Silence, Sobreity, and Sobs
by messed up stargazer
Summary: Companion/Sequel to 'Useful Platitudes and Skin Contact'. You don't need to read that one first but it might be helpful. When Enjolras offers Combeferre's empty room to Grantaire, he does not expect the events that follow. Sorry for the crappy summary, the story is better I promise. R&R please!


Enjolras knew what he was saying was a mistake, but even he couldn't resist the puppy dog eyes Grantaire had mastered.

"All right. But just for tonight." Enjolras said, allowing Grantaire to crash in Combeferre's room while he was out visiting his parents. It seemed Grantaire's landlady had invited a cousin and had no more room in her apartments, and in an effort to please the panicky woman, he told her he would find another place for the three nights the cousin would be there, much to her thanks.

Grantaire lit up with a smile so intense Enjolras mused it could've split his face in two.

"Thanks Apollo, you won't regret it. You won't even notice it's not Combeferre in the next room I promise! I'll make breakfast for you tomorrow and it'll be delicious and Combeferre will even be happy because he and I both know you don't eat enough and it'll be great!" Grantaire rambled.

"One catch." Enjolras said, deflating the man slightly, making Enjolras feel slightly like he was kicking a puppy.

"Anything Enjolras." Grantaire steeled himself, almost as if for a blow. It seemed he knew what Enjolras was going to ask of him.

"No liquor." Enjolras said calmly and Grantaire took a deep breath.

"I- I- Not even if I need it for breakfast tomorrow? The alcohol cooks out." Grantaire stuttered, clutching the almost empty wine in his hand closer to him.

"Not even then." Enjolras clarified firmly. He felt sorry for the drunk but in no way, shape, or form was alcohol entering his apartment. Not after, everything.

"I- Yes. I will manage for one night." Grantaire promised, setting his wine down, looking almost fearful yet determined.

Now Enjolras felt terrible, and even though he knew saying this would only create more problems, he whispered, "You can get your money's worth in the Musain."

Shockingly, Grantaire shook his head quickly. "No. If you say no liquor, then I shall not partake of it tonight. I'm strong enough."

Enjolras smiled genuinely at his friend and went over to Courfeyrac, who was calling him. He couldn't be sure, he rather hoped he imagined it, but he thought he might have heard Grantaire whisper, "At least, I hope I will be."

The night progressed rather quickly, as Grantaire did not speak up as he usually did, which often caused Enjolras to debate his views (read: distracted him with valid critiques). Their other friends snuck glances to him, even tried to buy him wine, but with a determined expression he kept silent and refused the wine. Soon, it came time to head home and Grantaire slowly walked out the door, then realized he needed directions to Enjolras's apartment. Silently, he joins his friend and together they head home.

"Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed your sobriety. Although, I must say your comments were missed. Everyone kept listening for them." Enjolras said softly.

_Tell me what's wrong_. Enjolras pleaded in his mind. _ I missed your voice, even if it is cynical. Your views are just as important as mine._

"I... I am not brave enough to speak without alcohol. I am tired, Enjolras, I'm afraid I must cease conversing." Grantaire mumbled. His expression was edgy, as if he were waiting for a monster to appear from the shadows and attack him. Perhaps he was.

"I understand, my friend." Enjolras said, trying to be light even though he knew a silent Grantaire was not a good thing, "Combeferre often does not know when to shut up."

Grantaire cracks a smile at that, and Enjolras feels he won a small victory.

Their walk is not in silence, however. Enjolras simply speaks of what his friends call 'the little things'. His studies, a small moment where he met a young boy who had given half of his lunch to a grisette because he thought she looked hungry, his meeting with other revolutionary leaders (even though he'd already mentioned that in the meeting) and even the flower Jehan placed in his shirt pocket. Grantaire only spoke to correct him, once, in a very shaky voice, that it was not a simple flower, it was an acacia; a flower that meant platonic or concealed love.

"That was entirely sweet of him. I was unaware that flowers had meanings." Enjolras mused. He had, but he hoped that he could stir Grantaire into conversation.

No such luck. Grantaire just shrugged and kept walking, although he did motion for Enjolras to continue speaking. He does, often leaving his off with remarks, with the same intent as one of the only lies he's ever told his friends, but no success. When they arrive at Enjolras's flat, Enjolras goes to the kitchen and offers to share his nightly pot of coffee but hears Combeferre's door shut and knows Grantaire will not be joining him. Suddenly, his nightly coffee does not sound so appealing anymore.

As university waits for no man, or even the god as his friends insist he is, it is well after midnight when he finally gets to his easiest homework. As he believes in saving the easiest for last so he can focus more on the harder things, his ears start to pick up the soft sounds of his street: the midnight song birds, the soft breeze caressing the few trees, the cackle of the fireplace below him which sent soothing warmth throughout his flat, and the nice, gentle sobs coming from the other room.

Wait a minute.

Enjolras listens intently, and when he hears nothing unfamiliar, he chastises himself for imagining such a thing. Grantaire is perfectly fine. He needn't worry... but he should. Grantaire disturbed him in many ways tonight. Not drinking, not speaking, barely even looking at him. Enjolras knows Grantaire stares at him, it's something he rather likes, it means even though Grantaire and he have opposite views on politics, Grantaire respects him enough to listen to him. He just wishes Grantaire's mouth moved tonight. It was unsettling knowing there was one meeting where Grantaire did not contradict him in any way.

Wait. The cry came again. Forgoing his ever so slightly useless textbook assignment from 'English Puritans', he stealthily crept over to Grantaire's room. _Combeferre's,_ he mentally corrected himself, _Grantaire is just spending the night_. The cries are easier to hear now and he can make some of them out.

"No, maman, please stop, pere, please stop... pere you're hurting me... please stop you'll kill her... stop... mercy... mercy..."

Enjolras exactly what was happening because he often went through such things. A nightmare. However, he was unsure of whether he should enter. Combeferre often waited until the next morning before confronting him about his unholy dreams. But Enjolras had a faint memory of Grantaire's soothing voice after one of his nightmares and there was something in Grantaire's voice that made it seem like he could not wait til morning to help Grantaire. Suddenly, there was a sharp scream and a gasp.

Grantaire had awoken. And by the sounds on the other side of the door, he was weeping.

Enjolras immediately opened the door, carefully as to not startle Grantaire, and crept over to his sobbing friend. He gently placed a hand on Grantaire's shoulder, who tensed underneath his touch. Grantaire instantly wiped his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

"A nightmare." Enjolras stated, trying to sooth his friend.

"I apologize for waking you, my friend." Grantaire said, his voice hesitant and unsteady.

"You did not. I was in my room, finishing my work. Which you did not interrupt either." Enjolras assured, trying to give Grantaire no reason to feel guilty.

"I'm sorry Apollo. I really thought I could do this." Grantaire started to weep once more, pulling away from Enjolras.

Enjolras pulled him back and wrapped his arms around Grantaire. Even though normal social interaction was foreign to him, he knew exactly what to do in this situation. He had done it so many times to his mother, after, everything. Grantaire was tense at first but soon the dam burst and a flood of tears spilled onto Grantaire's cheeks and into Enjolras's shirt. Enjolras said nothing, he just stroked Grantaire's mess of black curls and held him. After Grantaire's wreaking sobs had reduced to shuddering breaths, Enjolras tipped Grantaire's face up to him.

"Can you tell me what happened in your dream?" Enjolras asked.

"Not tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, after I have made us breakfast." Grantaire offered.

Enjolras knew he shouldn't press if his friend wasn't up to it, so he nodded. He moved to get up, but Grantaire's grip was soon on his wrist.

"Will you- Never mind, good night." Grantaire released Enjolras and turned away from him.

Knowing what he was asking, but unsure if he should do it, Enjolras froze. But soon the light from the hallway touched Grantaire's face and Enjolras saw the tortured expression on his friend's face and the haunted look in his friend's bloodshot eyes. Enjolras promised himself to try not to scold Grantaire as harshly as he was known to do. He wished to never see his friend's face like that ever again. He did not think his heart could bear it if _he_ was the cause. So he turned on his heel and went to his room. He changed into his night-clothes and gathered his pillows and blankets before heading back to Grantaire's room.

This time he did not correct himself on the ownership of the room.

He crept back into the room and laid the pillow down by Grantaire's side and moved so he was comfortable as he could be on the floor. He always liked his mattresses firm, so this was not too bad of an adjustment.

"What are you doing, Enjolras?" Grantaire asked sleepily his voice still husky from crying.

"Combeferre has told me that sleeping on the floor was good for your back. I wish to test his hypothesis." Enjolras said lightly.

"Thank you." Grantaire murmured so low Enjolras almost missed it.

Enjolras waited to relax until he was certain Grantaire's breathing was soft and even. After, he hoped Grantaire's sleep would be peaceful, he let himself slip into sleep.

In sleep, when his own dream started to turn into a violent foreshadow of a failed barricade, Enjolras's hand found Grantaire's, whose mind was already plunged into a horrible memory. With their fingers loosely intertwined, nightmares no longer held any leverage over the psyches of the two young men.

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**Hope it was good. Reviews make me write more. And if you guys have any prompts that have to do with sleeping/sleepwalking/sleep talking, I'd love them and would be very appreciated. Have fun, mon petite constructeurs barricade.**


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